Exposition
It all began early last week. My Band, Tung N' Groove, has been hard at work trying to expand our fanbase, and by doing so, one of the necessary things to do is to play in more venues. So we were pleased as punch when the owner of the Mainliner Pub agreed to have Tung N' Groove play at his pub -- which was scheduled to be on July 18-19, 2008.
Things changed rapidly when the owner of the Mainliner called our guitarist DH last week and insisted to change the band's booking date to June 27-28. As it turned out, our bass player couldn't make it due to family commitments.
DH really didn't want to lose the gig to another band, since he is also a member of Mule Shoe, he called the boys in that band to see if they could play the gig instead. As it turns out, their drummer, JY, was working out of town, so it appeared Mule Shoe wouldn't be able play the gig.
Then DH had an idea: Since MC Fro was once a member of Mule Shoe, why don't we get him to fill in on drums? After consultation with all the members of the band -- myself included -- that's exactly what happened.
The Story
Now, longtime readers of my little weblog will know that my experience in Mule Shoe wasn't exactly a walk in the park. If you remember, I was fired from the band because the bass player wanted to make music with his son. There was nothing I ever did wrong to warrant dismissal; it was just nepostism, pure and simple. Personality-wise, I always got along with the guys in the band -- so I wasn't worried about that -- but going into the situation, I was a little apprehensive. Perhaps I felt like I was re-opening old wounds, maybe fate was originally telling me that I wasn't supposed to be in that band, perhaps I didn't want to be exposed to some of the particulars, politics, and idiosyncracies of selected members. You might be able to relate to this comparison, but have you been able to get along with certain people individually, but put them together, and all hell breaks loose? Mule Shoe isn't exactly like this, but from my perspective, it could be compared to this in certain situations. A band is a business, and a relationship. It is much more than that in one respect, and in others, it's really nothing more than a working partnership.
Geez, what I put myslef into, just to make a couple hundred bucks.
Given my track record with local bands, I have tried to keep my involvement as professional as possible -- not get too close to the members of the band, and not put my heart into the music too deeply. Thus, if things go awry, then the separation isn't so painful.
I did take the job, promising myself to play my absolute best.
I was once a member of Mule Shoe, but that was three years ago. Many questions were going through my head. Would I remember all the songs? Did they learn a pile of new ones that I don't know? They released an album in late 2004; would they want to play any originals, and if so, how many?
All the questions led me to believe that I should sit down and review all their material. The problem is -- is that there isn't a set list anywhere. Even the guys in the band never carried set lists. If I racked my brain and scoured my iTunes collection, I only could come up with about 20 songs that I recalled Mule Shoe ever playing -- and that's about half of what's required to play a night's worth of material in a pub. I have also been incredibly busy as of late, so I haven't had the time to sit down and review anything.
So I went into the gig cold.
And what came out of my hands over two nights was nothing short of a miracle. All the covers -- even the originals -- came out with so much accuracy and precision that I left the other bandmates speechless. I even surprised myself at the accuracy of my long-term memory. I did not play perfectly -- when music is as subjective as it is, there will always be room for improvement -- but to the casual listener, these errors would have been entirely missed.
In the end, it was great to catch up with all they guys in the band again. We had lots of good laughs, many hugs and handshakes, and we made some pretty-good-sounding music. The crowd was decent, and supportive on both evenings. We all walked out with smiles on our faces.
What did I learn? Why should there be a moral to every story? I guess that means to be professional on all levels all the time. And play every gig like it's your last.
Showing posts with label Mule Shoe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mule Shoe. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Sunday, June 12, 2005
It's Over...
Last night, I had my final performance as the drummer for Mule Shoe. I decided there would be no better thing to do in the situation except consume a lot of alcohol, and have the best damn time I could.
I figured things would get awkward between the guys in the band and I, but that didn't happen. We played awesome this weekend. The band was very tight, and the crowd loved the music we played.
I ended up not getting quite as drunk as I planned. I still managed to put down 7 Rye and a couple shooters, but by the end of the night, I didn't have that much of a buzz. That's the physical exertion and the adrenaline talking. You sweat like a pig when you are on-stage, and whatever you put in your system just comes out your pores. By the end of the night, I was covered head to toe in perspiration. The Mule Shoe gig was a big test on my endurance -- it's not unlike running a marathon.
And yes, I did learn a few things from the Mule Shoe gig. Every band a musician plays with, should be able to take something new home from the experience. I played grooves that I never have attempted live. I pushed the limits of my 4-limb coordination and independence -- I even played a drum solo every night, which expanded my creativity (this is coming from a drummer who refuses to play drum solos). I learned a few things about endurance, playing hard, and hitting with consistency. Hitting hard is not a style of drumming I have been accustomed to for about 4 years, but it isn't as easy as it looks... It's hard on the equipment, on the mind, and on the body.
Conversely, I am the sort of drummer who likes to play with a "finesse" of sorts. I argue: Let the PA do the work. Dynamics play such an important role in music, and it is the most often overlooked aspect of popular music. Playing dynamically can add so much to a groove or a feel that it can take music to a whole new level. When I hit hard, I lose about 15% of my technique. I can't play as fast, nor as long, as I can when I play within my normal parameters. On the other hand, I can respect the Mule Shoe opinion: there is something to be said about loud, consistent music. There is power all those loud notes.
But there is power in the quiet notes, just as there is power in the notes you don't play.
I was really worried about the outcome of last night's gig. When band lineups change, the end result is not usually good. It's like breaking up with someone you have invested a lot of care and nurture in -- it can become bitter in an instant. I really didn't know what to expect from the other guys. I didn't know if I was going to get all emotional, and become a sentimental, sniffling, blubbering idiot -- something that I do become when I have consumed far too much alcohol.
What did happen was nothing short of blissful. It was all hugs and smiles. It was hardly a goodbye. There were compliments abound, thank-you's, best wishes, and even apologies. Every single one of them came to me privately, and we exchanged kind words. Every one of them felt awkward about saying goodbye, and the circumstances that led to my departure. Every one of them said that they would play with me again in a second. They truly appreciated my professional attitude, my dedication to the band, my talents, my overall conduct, and my friendship over the past few months. You often know when people are feeding you lines, or if they are telling you the truth. All the words exchanged between us last night were truly heartfelt.
I know there are countless people out there who, if were given the same scenario I have been presented with the last two weeks, wouldn't have given a shit about the other guys, or the band. The overwhelming majority would have arrived late, not returned phone calls, sloughed off, got stupidly drunk over the last two weeks, and gave a half-assed performance. Hell, if I was given two weeks' notice at my day job, I would be the laziest son of a bitch in the office, and nothing would get done. Instead, even though I knew my days in Mule Shoe were numbered, I gave it everything I could. This last weekend was likely the best I have played in ages -- if ever. Sure, I wanted to make sure the rest of the guys knew well what it was that they were letting go of -- but it goes deeper than egocentrism. I owed it to the guys in the band, I owed it to the drunken spectators of our performances, and I owed it to myself to be the best damn drummer I could be... and if it's not good enough for them, well, it will just have to be their loss.
They have a lot of talent. They are going to do so well in their respective musical careers. It's unfortunate that I will not be a part of it. This is likely not the place to say this, but now I have my own thing going, and my attention will be focused on the new act. I can't say it will be better than Mule Shoe, it will just be... different.
After all the kind words, the best wishes, the smiles and the hugs, I left the bar last night feeling like a million bucks. Having a professional attitude always pays off in the end. It's not over -- just a new beginning.
I figured things would get awkward between the guys in the band and I, but that didn't happen. We played awesome this weekend. The band was very tight, and the crowd loved the music we played.
I ended up not getting quite as drunk as I planned. I still managed to put down 7 Rye and a couple shooters, but by the end of the night, I didn't have that much of a buzz. That's the physical exertion and the adrenaline talking. You sweat like a pig when you are on-stage, and whatever you put in your system just comes out your pores. By the end of the night, I was covered head to toe in perspiration. The Mule Shoe gig was a big test on my endurance -- it's not unlike running a marathon.
And yes, I did learn a few things from the Mule Shoe gig. Every band a musician plays with, should be able to take something new home from the experience. I played grooves that I never have attempted live. I pushed the limits of my 4-limb coordination and independence -- I even played a drum solo every night, which expanded my creativity (this is coming from a drummer who refuses to play drum solos). I learned a few things about endurance, playing hard, and hitting with consistency. Hitting hard is not a style of drumming I have been accustomed to for about 4 years, but it isn't as easy as it looks... It's hard on the equipment, on the mind, and on the body.
Conversely, I am the sort of drummer who likes to play with a "finesse" of sorts. I argue: Let the PA do the work. Dynamics play such an important role in music, and it is the most often overlooked aspect of popular music. Playing dynamically can add so much to a groove or a feel that it can take music to a whole new level. When I hit hard, I lose about 15% of my technique. I can't play as fast, nor as long, as I can when I play within my normal parameters. On the other hand, I can respect the Mule Shoe opinion: there is something to be said about loud, consistent music. There is power all those loud notes.
But there is power in the quiet notes, just as there is power in the notes you don't play.
I was really worried about the outcome of last night's gig. When band lineups change, the end result is not usually good. It's like breaking up with someone you have invested a lot of care and nurture in -- it can become bitter in an instant. I really didn't know what to expect from the other guys. I didn't know if I was going to get all emotional, and become a sentimental, sniffling, blubbering idiot -- something that I do become when I have consumed far too much alcohol.
What did happen was nothing short of blissful. It was all hugs and smiles. It was hardly a goodbye. There were compliments abound, thank-you's, best wishes, and even apologies. Every single one of them came to me privately, and we exchanged kind words. Every one of them felt awkward about saying goodbye, and the circumstances that led to my departure. Every one of them said that they would play with me again in a second. They truly appreciated my professional attitude, my dedication to the band, my talents, my overall conduct, and my friendship over the past few months. You often know when people are feeding you lines, or if they are telling you the truth. All the words exchanged between us last night were truly heartfelt.
I know there are countless people out there who, if were given the same scenario I have been presented with the last two weeks, wouldn't have given a shit about the other guys, or the band. The overwhelming majority would have arrived late, not returned phone calls, sloughed off, got stupidly drunk over the last two weeks, and gave a half-assed performance. Hell, if I was given two weeks' notice at my day job, I would be the laziest son of a bitch in the office, and nothing would get done. Instead, even though I knew my days in Mule Shoe were numbered, I gave it everything I could. This last weekend was likely the best I have played in ages -- if ever. Sure, I wanted to make sure the rest of the guys knew well what it was that they were letting go of -- but it goes deeper than egocentrism. I owed it to the guys in the band, I owed it to the drunken spectators of our performances, and I owed it to myself to be the best damn drummer I could be... and if it's not good enough for them, well, it will just have to be their loss.
They have a lot of talent. They are going to do so well in their respective musical careers. It's unfortunate that I will not be a part of it. This is likely not the place to say this, but now I have my own thing going, and my attention will be focused on the new act. I can't say it will be better than Mule Shoe, it will just be... different.
After all the kind words, the best wishes, the smiles and the hugs, I left the bar last night feeling like a million bucks. Having a professional attitude always pays off in the end. It's not over -- just a new beginning.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Oh, The Humanity!
Being a member of a Rock Band, you get to see a lot of shit that you would otherwise never see elsewhere -- especially if you play the bar circuit. Playing in the dives are always more entertaining than playing the "A-Clubs". On a slightly unrelated tangent, I find it amazing that people can be civil to one another, but the moment you pump six beers into them, they become unreasonable animals.
This weekend, I was playing in one of the worst joints I have been in. It was definitely not the worst bar I have been in, but there were some things I have seen this weekend that made me shake my head in disbelief.
There was this useless lush in the bar Thursday night. He was so drunk he could barely walk, barely talk, and I'm sure he forgot his name sometime in the afternoon. By the time we began playing at 9:00, he was quite unruly, and he kept trying to climb up on the stage and talk to us -- while we were playing. The barmaid walked up to him and warned him once to cool it, but it was obvious that the warning didn't sink in. So the barmaid threw him out.
Not five minutes later the idiot lush stumbled back into the bar. The barmaid promptly threw his drunk ass out, but that didn't stop him. A few minutes later, he was back in the bar, and he refused to leave.
This particular bar does not carry a staff of bouncers, though it is in dire need of some. In these riff-raff joints, bouncers are regarded only as expenses, so when things get aggressive, the best thing you can do is say a quick prayer and duck, or get the hell out of the bar.
The barmaid called the cops to get this uncooperative excuse for a human being out of the bar. The cops arrived, and hauled his drunk ass out. I was convinced that would be the last I would see of him that night.
Not twenty minutes later he re-entered the bar -- where he remained until the bar closed. He hadn't been served in over four hours, but there he stayed, consuming precious oxygen in a smoke-filled bar.
I gotta tell you, if I were managing that bar, I would have taken steps to ensure that he would not set foot in that bar for the rest of the night -- and maybe a few days after that. The doctors would have laboured to surgically remove a foot from his colon.
Then there was the old guy last night. When I entered the bar at 8:30, he was completely shit-faced. He was enthusiastic about our music, but I could not understand a single sentence he said, as he was slurring so bad, and his sentences had little content except for seemingly endless streams of profanity: "Shitgoddamnmotherfuckinkeepitrealyougoddamnmotherfuckersyoukickassyousonofabitchesrockthesefuckinwhores"
I had my bets that this drunk wouldn't make it until 10:00. If I was a gambling man, I would have lost dearly this weekend. I watched in disbelief as this old man continued to be served the entire evening. If I drank as much as these guys did, I would either be in a coffin, or dehydrated past the point of mummification.
After Friday's performance, a few of the guys in the band decided to go across town to a truck stop and get some greasy food. I did not join them, but the nest night I began hearing the stories. They were seated next to the same old guy who had watched us all night, who was still muttering incoherently: "Fuckintwobitwhoreswontsellmeagoddamnbeerfuckthisstupidassshit". I would usually laugh at the unsettling nature of such things, but what I saw this weekend was so depressing that I cannot believe how low some people will go.
Which reminds me of the Cougar that was in the bar tonight. She was likely fifty years old, with a face that only a mother could kiss, when she stared at the band we could tell she either took a trip down the stairs, walked into a cupboard, or her husband decided she needed a good ass-whooping. We had only played about three songs, and she jumped on the dance floor, and began dancing by herself to the music. She appeared like she drank a keg herself; she loved the music we were playing, and she was very, very horny. It was only a matter of seconds that she had her shirt off, wildly waving it in the air, and then succeeded to make sweet love to a load-bearing post on the dance floor. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep myself form either vomiting, or stopping our song altogether. By the time the barmaid made it from the bar to the dance floor to stop this nonesense, our drunken cougar was trying her hardest to get her pants unbuttoned. The barmaid wrestled with her, and managed to force her into the ladies' washroom where I assumed that the drunk would be allowed to get herself decent. The two of them emerged a minute later, and the cougar was escorted out of the bar. I think I was quite glad to not see her the rest of the night.
At the end of the set, I asked the other band members to wash my eyes out with Lysol.
I am quite happy that I will not have to perform in that dump in the foreseeable future.
This weekend, I was playing in one of the worst joints I have been in. It was definitely not the worst bar I have been in, but there were some things I have seen this weekend that made me shake my head in disbelief.
There was this useless lush in the bar Thursday night. He was so drunk he could barely walk, barely talk, and I'm sure he forgot his name sometime in the afternoon. By the time we began playing at 9:00, he was quite unruly, and he kept trying to climb up on the stage and talk to us -- while we were playing. The barmaid walked up to him and warned him once to cool it, but it was obvious that the warning didn't sink in. So the barmaid threw him out.
Not five minutes later the idiot lush stumbled back into the bar. The barmaid promptly threw his drunk ass out, but that didn't stop him. A few minutes later, he was back in the bar, and he refused to leave.
This particular bar does not carry a staff of bouncers, though it is in dire need of some. In these riff-raff joints, bouncers are regarded only as expenses, so when things get aggressive, the best thing you can do is say a quick prayer and duck, or get the hell out of the bar.
The barmaid called the cops to get this uncooperative excuse for a human being out of the bar. The cops arrived, and hauled his drunk ass out. I was convinced that would be the last I would see of him that night.
Not twenty minutes later he re-entered the bar -- where he remained until the bar closed. He hadn't been served in over four hours, but there he stayed, consuming precious oxygen in a smoke-filled bar.
I gotta tell you, if I were managing that bar, I would have taken steps to ensure that he would not set foot in that bar for the rest of the night -- and maybe a few days after that. The doctors would have laboured to surgically remove a foot from his colon.
Then there was the old guy last night. When I entered the bar at 8:30, he was completely shit-faced. He was enthusiastic about our music, but I could not understand a single sentence he said, as he was slurring so bad, and his sentences had little content except for seemingly endless streams of profanity: "Shitgoddamnmotherfuckinkeepitrealyougoddamnmotherfuckersyoukickassyousonofabitchesrockthesefuckinwhores"
I had my bets that this drunk wouldn't make it until 10:00. If I was a gambling man, I would have lost dearly this weekend. I watched in disbelief as this old man continued to be served the entire evening. If I drank as much as these guys did, I would either be in a coffin, or dehydrated past the point of mummification.
After Friday's performance, a few of the guys in the band decided to go across town to a truck stop and get some greasy food. I did not join them, but the nest night I began hearing the stories. They were seated next to the same old guy who had watched us all night, who was still muttering incoherently: "Fuckintwobitwhoreswontsellmeagoddamnbeerfuckthisstupidassshit". I would usually laugh at the unsettling nature of such things, but what I saw this weekend was so depressing that I cannot believe how low some people will go.
Which reminds me of the Cougar that was in the bar tonight. She was likely fifty years old, with a face that only a mother could kiss, when she stared at the band we could tell she either took a trip down the stairs, walked into a cupboard, or her husband decided she needed a good ass-whooping. We had only played about three songs, and she jumped on the dance floor, and began dancing by herself to the music. She appeared like she drank a keg herself; she loved the music we were playing, and she was very, very horny. It was only a matter of seconds that she had her shirt off, wildly waving it in the air, and then succeeded to make sweet love to a load-bearing post on the dance floor. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep myself form either vomiting, or stopping our song altogether. By the time the barmaid made it from the bar to the dance floor to stop this nonesense, our drunken cougar was trying her hardest to get her pants unbuttoned. The barmaid wrestled with her, and managed to force her into the ladies' washroom where I assumed that the drunk would be allowed to get herself decent. The two of them emerged a minute later, and the cougar was escorted out of the bar. I think I was quite glad to not see her the rest of the night.
At the end of the set, I asked the other band members to wash my eyes out with Lysol.
I am quite happy that I will not have to perform in that dump in the foreseeable future.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Royal Therapy
I was going to spend some time writing about my experience gigging this weekend, but in light of recent events, I wonder what the point would be. It breaks my heart, because I had such a great time playing with the other members of Mule Shoe, and our performance was musically tight.
Last weekend, we were playing the Royal; my stomping grounds, the place I like to drink and hang out. It was the first time I have played the Royal in over three years, and I used to gig at that bar once every six weeks for four years. I've made a lot of money in that bar, and I've spent a lot on my choice of poisons.
Walking into that bar with my gear in hand on Wednesday night felt like a homecoming. I arrived early, so I could take my time setting my drums up perfectly, relishing in the smoky ambiance, and quietly grooving to the Classic Rock tunes on the jukebox. I was loathing the next two days at work, but I didn't care at the moment, I was going to be playing in front of a few hundred drunken animals over the weekend.
Thursdays at the Royal are generally quiet, but a few friends showed up, supported us and got very drunk. One of the patrons in the bar was RQ, one of my pupils. Sadly, he was moving to Victoria the next day. I consider RQ one of my long-term investments -- he has been taking lessons from me for many years, and we had become good friends over the years. It was tough to see him go, but in the end I know there are greener pastures ahead of him.
Come to think of it, RQ's departure was a bit like a premonition for my departure from Mule Shoe.
The only other event of Thursday night was this obnoxious drunk (every bar has at least one). Wearing a neon green t-shirt that was reminiscent of the late 1980's, he approached us while we were playing, ranting about something or other, likely being overly critical about our choice of material. He was so drunk, he threw his empty glass at the bass player, luckily missing him completely. The bass player gave him a stern warning, though I'm sure it fell on deaf ears, as the drunk maintained his innocence. It wasn't five minutes later that in the middle of the song, the drunk decided to collapse on the lead singer's guitar rig, sending a rather expensive guitar to the floor. It was a good thing the bouncer got hold of the drunk before the bass player did. JY was winding his foot up to give him a swift kick to the face. We never saw the obnoxious drunk for the rest of the night, which was likely a good thing.
Friday and Saturday nights were busier. I ended up having a number of friends show up to support us, which made the long breaks seem to go by much quicker. The bar was packed full of enthusiastic hard rockers, and we played solidly for the remaining two nights.
By Saturday night, I noticed something very strange. I was smiling. I was enjoying myself, I felt good, and I was happy. I remember telling myself that this was proof that music was my calling in life, and I would do everything in my power to continue making music for the remainder of my life. Music is my therapy; my outlet for aggression. It's my reason to get up and crawl out of bed every single day.
Funny how that can be taken away from you without notice. In two weeks, my days of gigging will be put on hold indefinitely -- at least until the next gig rolls around. And this time, I think I will have to be a little more proactive in scheduling practices, gigs, etc... It's a responsibility I have taken for granted for most of my career. Perhaps it's time that I start establishing some ties and begging for work.
This change in my schedule will allow me to put an act together with MA and RH. I have a firm belief that the three of us could manage to throw something together that this city has never seen. I get excited just thinking about it.
Like I said the other night, a part of me was disappointed to no longer be a part of Mule Shoe, but another part was relieved that I could devote my attention to other matters.
Last weekend, we were playing the Royal; my stomping grounds, the place I like to drink and hang out. It was the first time I have played the Royal in over three years, and I used to gig at that bar once every six weeks for four years. I've made a lot of money in that bar, and I've spent a lot on my choice of poisons.
Walking into that bar with my gear in hand on Wednesday night felt like a homecoming. I arrived early, so I could take my time setting my drums up perfectly, relishing in the smoky ambiance, and quietly grooving to the Classic Rock tunes on the jukebox. I was loathing the next two days at work, but I didn't care at the moment, I was going to be playing in front of a few hundred drunken animals over the weekend.
Thursdays at the Royal are generally quiet, but a few friends showed up, supported us and got very drunk. One of the patrons in the bar was RQ, one of my pupils. Sadly, he was moving to Victoria the next day. I consider RQ one of my long-term investments -- he has been taking lessons from me for many years, and we had become good friends over the years. It was tough to see him go, but in the end I know there are greener pastures ahead of him.
Come to think of it, RQ's departure was a bit like a premonition for my departure from Mule Shoe.
The only other event of Thursday night was this obnoxious drunk (every bar has at least one). Wearing a neon green t-shirt that was reminiscent of the late 1980's, he approached us while we were playing, ranting about something or other, likely being overly critical about our choice of material. He was so drunk, he threw his empty glass at the bass player, luckily missing him completely. The bass player gave him a stern warning, though I'm sure it fell on deaf ears, as the drunk maintained his innocence. It wasn't five minutes later that in the middle of the song, the drunk decided to collapse on the lead singer's guitar rig, sending a rather expensive guitar to the floor. It was a good thing the bouncer got hold of the drunk before the bass player did. JY was winding his foot up to give him a swift kick to the face. We never saw the obnoxious drunk for the rest of the night, which was likely a good thing.
Friday and Saturday nights were busier. I ended up having a number of friends show up to support us, which made the long breaks seem to go by much quicker. The bar was packed full of enthusiastic hard rockers, and we played solidly for the remaining two nights.
By Saturday night, I noticed something very strange. I was smiling. I was enjoying myself, I felt good, and I was happy. I remember telling myself that this was proof that music was my calling in life, and I would do everything in my power to continue making music for the remainder of my life. Music is my therapy; my outlet for aggression. It's my reason to get up and crawl out of bed every single day.
Funny how that can be taken away from you without notice. In two weeks, my days of gigging will be put on hold indefinitely -- at least until the next gig rolls around. And this time, I think I will have to be a little more proactive in scheduling practices, gigs, etc... It's a responsibility I have taken for granted for most of my career. Perhaps it's time that I start establishing some ties and begging for work.
This change in my schedule will allow me to put an act together with MA and RH. I have a firm belief that the three of us could manage to throw something together that this city has never seen. I get excited just thinking about it.
Like I said the other night, a part of me was disappointed to no longer be a part of Mule Shoe, but another part was relieved that I could devote my attention to other matters.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Two More Weeks (aka Back to the Woodshed)
Life is never short of surprises. I suppose life would be boring if we could foretell the future. It would be beneficial in the sense that we could avoid catastrophe, but in the end we would be able to predict our own demises, and then that would raise a whole bunch of philosophical issues, such as if the future is written in stone, or if we are in control of our destinies. A wise, 800 year-old Jedi Master once said: "Always in motion, is the future", and though I would like to think I have a bit of a psychic twinkle, I didn't see this one coming -- at least so soon.
Yesterday, I was fired from Mule Shoe. Actually, being fired is inaccurate, but more like I was given my two weeks' notice. I have two more weekends with the band, and I become a free agent. It is a complicated situation, but they re-hired the original drummer in the band, who also happens to be the bass players' son.
I find it a perplexing situation. There is no bad blood between any of us -- I guess I'm just not the guy for their band. In fact, they had nothing to say about me except the highest praise. They were more than "just impressed" by my dedication, enthusiasm, punctuality, talent, and professionalism. It seemed like I was everything they wanted in a drummer, but in the end, it must have been something else they were looking for.
This is my public statement, and I honestly wish them all the best in their future endeavors. They truly are great people, and have treated me with the utmost respect.
I would be lying if I told you my final two weeks with the band aren't going to be emotional. Even though I have played with them for only a short while, I have known them all for a number of years. There is a bond between us that will be broken. There will be wounds, but they heal. And even though I am depressed about the situation, I also felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.
There is irony in this experience; this isn't the first band I have been fired from. I have played in many bands, and I know they don't last forever. They are a lot like teenage relationships. There is the potential for nasty breakups and backstabbing, they are often short-lived, but usually filled with a sense of euphoria when you are part of one. When you first get into a relationship, you can't believe how perfect it seems. As time passes, you begin to see the faults in the relationship. Playing in a band is no different, except there are usually many "significant others" in a band situation, which can complicate things, and it's always easier to sort things out between two people.
Drummers have it tough. Statistically speaking, they are the most frequently replaced member in any band. I find this strange, as the drummer is the backbone of the band. A good drummer can make or break a band. In the same breath, there are many drummers out there, but few good ones. Because of my love affair with my instrument, I take my craft very seriously, and I take many steps to ensure that my talents are appreciated, and respected. Even in my small city, there are drummers crying for gigs, and there are only a select few that work on a regular basis. Thus, if I want to continue playing in this city, I must play my best at all times.
This means a lot more than being proficient at my instrument, but being skilled is the most integral of them all. I am constantly trying to expand my playing abilities so I can play anything that is thrown my way. Even Mule Shoe, being a heavy rock band, pushed the envelope for my playing. I had to hit hard consistently. They also had a number of songs that were technically demanding. There were long songs, and some fast ones, that I was winded by the time I finished playing them. Drumming is cardiovascular, and maintaining a certain level of fitness does help any drummer.
Equally important to technical proficiency is the drummer's sense of time. If the drummer has no solid sense of time, his tenure in the band will be short. It is a drummer's job to hold the band together. Related to this point is drug abuse. All drugs, alcohol and caffeine included, alters a person's perception of time. When I am on the gig, I watch my consumption of alcohol, as I notice a change in my playing with even the smallest doses.
Punctuality and professionalism go a long way -- in any career. Playing in a band should be no different. If you are serious about your craft, then you should act like it. People will be inclined to treat you more professionally if you exhibit that persona.
Every drummer should learn to sing, and learn another instrument. This will expand your understanding of music, and having the ability to contribute harmony to the band will make you more employable. Music is a tough, tough business, and there is no point is selling yourself short out of pure ignorance.
That being said, all this advice will not prevent anyone from being fired. I still lost my gig even though I apparently did nothing to warrant it. A person may be called an asset, even indispensable, but in the end, nobody is irreplaceable.
So in two weeks, I will return to the woodshed, honing my chops. I will place a few phone calls. I will continue with my professional attitude, and prepare for my next big break -- whether it happens within the next week, or the next year.
Yesterday, I was fired from Mule Shoe. Actually, being fired is inaccurate, but more like I was given my two weeks' notice. I have two more weekends with the band, and I become a free agent. It is a complicated situation, but they re-hired the original drummer in the band, who also happens to be the bass players' son.
I find it a perplexing situation. There is no bad blood between any of us -- I guess I'm just not the guy for their band. In fact, they had nothing to say about me except the highest praise. They were more than "just impressed" by my dedication, enthusiasm, punctuality, talent, and professionalism. It seemed like I was everything they wanted in a drummer, but in the end, it must have been something else they were looking for.
This is my public statement, and I honestly wish them all the best in their future endeavors. They truly are great people, and have treated me with the utmost respect.
I would be lying if I told you my final two weeks with the band aren't going to be emotional. Even though I have played with them for only a short while, I have known them all for a number of years. There is a bond between us that will be broken. There will be wounds, but they heal. And even though I am depressed about the situation, I also felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.
There is irony in this experience; this isn't the first band I have been fired from. I have played in many bands, and I know they don't last forever. They are a lot like teenage relationships. There is the potential for nasty breakups and backstabbing, they are often short-lived, but usually filled with a sense of euphoria when you are part of one. When you first get into a relationship, you can't believe how perfect it seems. As time passes, you begin to see the faults in the relationship. Playing in a band is no different, except there are usually many "significant others" in a band situation, which can complicate things, and it's always easier to sort things out between two people.
Drummers have it tough. Statistically speaking, they are the most frequently replaced member in any band. I find this strange, as the drummer is the backbone of the band. A good drummer can make or break a band. In the same breath, there are many drummers out there, but few good ones. Because of my love affair with my instrument, I take my craft very seriously, and I take many steps to ensure that my talents are appreciated, and respected. Even in my small city, there are drummers crying for gigs, and there are only a select few that work on a regular basis. Thus, if I want to continue playing in this city, I must play my best at all times.
This means a lot more than being proficient at my instrument, but being skilled is the most integral of them all. I am constantly trying to expand my playing abilities so I can play anything that is thrown my way. Even Mule Shoe, being a heavy rock band, pushed the envelope for my playing. I had to hit hard consistently. They also had a number of songs that were technically demanding. There were long songs, and some fast ones, that I was winded by the time I finished playing them. Drumming is cardiovascular, and maintaining a certain level of fitness does help any drummer.
Equally important to technical proficiency is the drummer's sense of time. If the drummer has no solid sense of time, his tenure in the band will be short. It is a drummer's job to hold the band together. Related to this point is drug abuse. All drugs, alcohol and caffeine included, alters a person's perception of time. When I am on the gig, I watch my consumption of alcohol, as I notice a change in my playing with even the smallest doses.
Punctuality and professionalism go a long way -- in any career. Playing in a band should be no different. If you are serious about your craft, then you should act like it. People will be inclined to treat you more professionally if you exhibit that persona.
Every drummer should learn to sing, and learn another instrument. This will expand your understanding of music, and having the ability to contribute harmony to the band will make you more employable. Music is a tough, tough business, and there is no point is selling yourself short out of pure ignorance.
That being said, all this advice will not prevent anyone from being fired. I still lost my gig even though I apparently did nothing to warrant it. A person may be called an asset, even indispensable, but in the end, nobody is irreplaceable.
So in two weeks, I will return to the woodshed, honing my chops. I will place a few phone calls. I will continue with my professional attitude, and prepare for my next big break -- whether it happens within the next week, or the next year.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
No Sleep Till Summer
Gigging in Calgary was a blast last week, even though I was running around like a headless chicken. I expected that I was going to get a lot of rest and relaxation, but it turned out that I didn't get much rest.
Much of Thursday was spent shopping with Chris. We hit nearly every music store within the city limits. By the end of the day, my credit card burned to the touch. I swiped that thing so many times, smoke began emanating from my wallet. I ended up buying drumheads, drumsticks (necessities), and a brand new pair of K hi-hats. I saw my dream drumset, and my heart ached, but I knew there was no possible way that I could afford another drumset at this time. The drumset kept whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and then begged me to take it home, but I tried explaining to the drumset that I just didn't have room in my car for the new beauty. I promised the drumset I would return and buy her, but deep down she knew I couldn't hold my promise.
I also saw the Mackie mixers I was describing in an earlier post. I was very tempted to walk out with one, but again the price tag was a little much for me to justify -- and I knew, deep in my heart, that I wanted a pair of K hi-hats most. I also saw an Ayotte-Keplinger snare, that just thirty minutes prior, I told Chris: "If they have an Ayotte-Keplinger snare, I don't care how much it costs, I'm buying one". Once I saw the $1200 price tag, I changed my mind.
I can't remember the last time I spent 3 nights in the bar. In some ways, it was nice to get out of my cocoon. It was also very smoky, and rowdy. My beautiful maple snare drum now smells like an ashtray. The drumset I took up to Calgary almost didn't hold up to the abuse that Müle Shöe deals on a nightly basis. I took my portable PureCussion drumset, but that thing is so flimsy, that you can only hit so hard before you begin damaging the kit. I should have known better, but I have a real hard time fitting my big drumset into my car.
The performances did go well overall. The band is clicking nicely, and they are still kicking my ass to hit harder. We sold a fair number of CD's, t-shirts, and 8X10 posters. We made some good connections which could mean that we will be returning to Calgary sooner than expected. Perhaps we will return during the summer... But I can't say anything about that right now.
I had many late nights, and early mornings. There was also a time change Saturday night, so I lost an hour of sleep. The drive back home was a long one, even though I couldn't wait to get back home to my own bed.
Four days since I returned home, I am still exhausted. I have no idea when things are going to let up, but the next few weeks are going to be packed. I have all kinds of rehearsals (with three different bands), weekend gigs, and even recording sessions in the studio. I may be making some coin here and there, but I know that I won't be getting much sleep.
Much of Thursday was spent shopping with Chris. We hit nearly every music store within the city limits. By the end of the day, my credit card burned to the touch. I swiped that thing so many times, smoke began emanating from my wallet. I ended up buying drumheads, drumsticks (necessities), and a brand new pair of K hi-hats. I saw my dream drumset, and my heart ached, but I knew there was no possible way that I could afford another drumset at this time. The drumset kept whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and then begged me to take it home, but I tried explaining to the drumset that I just didn't have room in my car for the new beauty. I promised the drumset I would return and buy her, but deep down she knew I couldn't hold my promise.
I also saw the Mackie mixers I was describing in an earlier post. I was very tempted to walk out with one, but again the price tag was a little much for me to justify -- and I knew, deep in my heart, that I wanted a pair of K hi-hats most. I also saw an Ayotte-Keplinger snare, that just thirty minutes prior, I told Chris: "If they have an Ayotte-Keplinger snare, I don't care how much it costs, I'm buying one". Once I saw the $1200 price tag, I changed my mind.
I can't remember the last time I spent 3 nights in the bar. In some ways, it was nice to get out of my cocoon. It was also very smoky, and rowdy. My beautiful maple snare drum now smells like an ashtray. The drumset I took up to Calgary almost didn't hold up to the abuse that Müle Shöe deals on a nightly basis. I took my portable PureCussion drumset, but that thing is so flimsy, that you can only hit so hard before you begin damaging the kit. I should have known better, but I have a real hard time fitting my big drumset into my car.
The performances did go well overall. The band is clicking nicely, and they are still kicking my ass to hit harder. We sold a fair number of CD's, t-shirts, and 8X10 posters. We made some good connections which could mean that we will be returning to Calgary sooner than expected. Perhaps we will return during the summer... But I can't say anything about that right now.
I had many late nights, and early mornings. There was also a time change Saturday night, so I lost an hour of sleep. The drive back home was a long one, even though I couldn't wait to get back home to my own bed.
Four days since I returned home, I am still exhausted. I have no idea when things are going to let up, but the next few weeks are going to be packed. I have all kinds of rehearsals (with three different bands), weekend gigs, and even recording sessions in the studio. I may be making some coin here and there, but I know that I won't be getting much sleep.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
My Ugly Mug on the Tube
I would like to rewind a few days and talk about my experience on being on television, where a potential viewership of about 1.5 million watched my band perform on The A-Channel's Wired.
Wednesday sure felt incredibly busy. I spent much of the morning packing my stuff and managed to be on the highway by 1:30 in the afternoon. It was around 4:30 before I made it to the outskirts of Calgary -- and it was rush-hour. I found my hotel with little trouble, checked-in, and went through the lengthy process of moving my baggage and equipment into my hotel room. I was not about to leave thousands of dollars worth of equipment in my car. I felt that was just an invitation for a thief to break into my car and steal the tools of my trade.
I ended up eating a hamburger at the Wendy's across the street where people barely spoke English. I ate hastily as I was alone, feeling straying eyes glance at me as I sat alone, staring out the window. Believe it or not, I am really self-conscious about sitting in a restaurant, eating alone. I'd sooner drive my car through a drive-thru and park my car, eating with the doors locked. I feel safer in my car.
I walked back to my hotel room, shaved, showered, and changed my clothes in preparation for my big television debut. Then I mentally prepared myself for a drive that I was dreading -- driving through downtown Calgary.
I get very claustrophobic with high-rise buildings blocking out the sun. Being raised on the prairies where I can see for miles, I feel blind and constrained when I cannot see much further than fifty meters. I can only describe it feeling like a lab rat feels when it is placed in a maze. The roads in downtown Calgary are largely one-way streets, so navigating your way around these high-rises can be troublesome. You often have to doubleback in order to get to your destination.
I managed to find the A-Channel studio, and when I parked my car, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A few of my bandmates were already there, unloading gear out of their vehicles. I went to buy a parking pass from the electronic vendor, where I was hit up by a junkie, begging for cash. I imagine this is commonplace everywhere else, but in smalltown Alberta, I rarely see events like this. I just wanted to get indoors to safety.
Walking into a television studio is a bit surreal. You begin to see the sets that you normally see every day. They are often a lot smaller than you think they are. The ceilings are strangely absent; instead there countless studio lights pointed in every which direction, many of them covered in colored gels to achieve a certain type of lighting. Electrical cords and cables are everywhere, and you almost feel like a child in a department store, where if you dare touch anything, it will be the end of the world as you know it.
We were escorted through a large room where about a dozen staff were working on computers as well as all sorts of intriguing electronic gizmos, likely preparing for programming that was to occur in the future. Everybody in the room managed to stop their tasks for a few seconds, and say hello to us. It was a kind gesture to us, especially when we didn't even know how welcome we would be.
There was not a lot of time, so once we were in the studio, we hastily began assembling our equipment. There already was a drumset for me to use, so after a careful inspection, I managed to utilize much of the television stations' drumkit. We had our gear assembled in about twenty minutes, we did a quick sound check with one of the stations' technicians, and we were then instructed to wait -- and wait quietly, I might add.
We might have waited only fifteen minutes, but it felt like two hours. The nerves were beginning to affect us all, and Jake, Chris and I did a final last-ditch practice of the songs by humming, air-drumming and plucking at their unplugged guitars. It felt good, but we all knew that we only had one shot at this, and we would have to do our absolute best. Our lead singer Dan, disappeared to a public washroom where he warmed up his vocal chords.
It wasn't long until the host, Jill Bellam, arrived (I think that's what her name was). She was a very kind host, who made us feel a little at ease. She asked us a few questions, and instructed us how the taping would commence, as well as she told us what to expect. Immediately thereafter, we were instructed to plug-in our instruments, take our places, and wait for the dreaded countdown. Once the countdown hits zero, you are on -- and you'd better not take your time.
I saw the cameraman count down from ten until five, and then continue counting down silently with his fingers. Once his hand reached zero, I soiled my shorts and counted the band in the first number.
I don't know where I went for the next four minutes. I was completely focused, listening to the other players. I was praying that everything would go flawlessly, but when you are under such pressure, anything can go wrong. I kept telling myself to not look at the cameras; first of all, because you look like such a dork when you make eyes with the camera, and second, the moment you look into that glass eye -- the one that has the red light glowing, you freeze like a deer in headlights. All I could do to keep myself from vomiting over myself was to go into my own little world, and tell myself that we were not taping.
As soon as the song ended, Jill walked on the stage, thanked us, and commenced the interview. I am quite happy that she did not ask me a question, because I would have looked like such a dork, wiping the drool from my face, and uttering something completely primitive and unintelligible -- kinda like "Buddy-Nugs". Dan and Jake handled the questions, and I think they did a good job. The interview was very short, perhaps under two minutes. What you saw on the show was exactly the way it happened. Nothing was cut, nothing was patched or added.
We were instructed to sit for a few minutes and wait to perform our second number. Once again, the butterflies returned to my stomach, as I would be singing during the second song, and I hadn't learned my harmonies well enough. In addition, the monitors were poor, and the staff didn't have enough time to make things picture-perfect for us.
The countdown commenced, and once again I was counting in the band, praying that I wouldn't embarrass myself, the band, or my family for generations to come, by doing something stupid. Musically, the song went well, but I could hardly hear the other singers, and I did my best to fake my harmonies. I didn't think I did too bad, as they seemed to fit well in the mix.
The song ended without a train-wreck and we all breathed a huge sigh of relief. Jill thanked us for being on the show, as well as we thanked her for having the opportunity to stare at her for about an hour. She left the studio, and the band began packing our gear.
Chris asked me if I would like to join him for a beverage at one of the pubs, were we could drink some of these jitters away. I agreed, and drove across town to a watering-hole where I met a few of his friends. I stayed for a few drinks, but I had to leave, as I could not wait to see myself on a real television station.
Well, I suppose it might have been better if I did not tune-in at all. I sure felt like I looked like a dork. The shots of me looked like I just got back in from smoking a dozen joints. Boy, did I look lit. The music sounded pretty decent for television, but I sure cringed when I heard the vocals. Oh, was it torture. It was off-key, shrill, and sounded worse than a thousand drunken bagpipers on St. Patrick's Day. After our "performance", I turned off the television, and began convincing myself that nobody was going to watch that show anyway.
Boy, was I wrong. The next day, Chris and I went shopping in Calgary. Everywhere we went, we were approached by strangers saying: "Hey! You were on Wired last night!" We were celebrities -- something I did not want to become again. Well, at least we didn't have legions of screaming fans stalking us, but at least we were treated well by those who did recognize us. I suppose it was a nice boost to the ego, and in the end, I am glad to have had the experience.
Next time, I might opt out of singing. Musicians always talk about the "truth on tape". I suppose this day and age, there is truth in ones and zeros. The tape never lies; the tape is merciless. I could never stand the sound of my own voice -- even if I was singing well.
Wednesday sure felt incredibly busy. I spent much of the morning packing my stuff and managed to be on the highway by 1:30 in the afternoon. It was around 4:30 before I made it to the outskirts of Calgary -- and it was rush-hour. I found my hotel with little trouble, checked-in, and went through the lengthy process of moving my baggage and equipment into my hotel room. I was not about to leave thousands of dollars worth of equipment in my car. I felt that was just an invitation for a thief to break into my car and steal the tools of my trade.
I ended up eating a hamburger at the Wendy's across the street where people barely spoke English. I ate hastily as I was alone, feeling straying eyes glance at me as I sat alone, staring out the window. Believe it or not, I am really self-conscious about sitting in a restaurant, eating alone. I'd sooner drive my car through a drive-thru and park my car, eating with the doors locked. I feel safer in my car.
I walked back to my hotel room, shaved, showered, and changed my clothes in preparation for my big television debut. Then I mentally prepared myself for a drive that I was dreading -- driving through downtown Calgary.
I get very claustrophobic with high-rise buildings blocking out the sun. Being raised on the prairies where I can see for miles, I feel blind and constrained when I cannot see much further than fifty meters. I can only describe it feeling like a lab rat feels when it is placed in a maze. The roads in downtown Calgary are largely one-way streets, so navigating your way around these high-rises can be troublesome. You often have to doubleback in order to get to your destination.
I managed to find the A-Channel studio, and when I parked my car, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A few of my bandmates were already there, unloading gear out of their vehicles. I went to buy a parking pass from the electronic vendor, where I was hit up by a junkie, begging for cash. I imagine this is commonplace everywhere else, but in smalltown Alberta, I rarely see events like this. I just wanted to get indoors to safety.
Walking into a television studio is a bit surreal. You begin to see the sets that you normally see every day. They are often a lot smaller than you think they are. The ceilings are strangely absent; instead there countless studio lights pointed in every which direction, many of them covered in colored gels to achieve a certain type of lighting. Electrical cords and cables are everywhere, and you almost feel like a child in a department store, where if you dare touch anything, it will be the end of the world as you know it.
We were escorted through a large room where about a dozen staff were working on computers as well as all sorts of intriguing electronic gizmos, likely preparing for programming that was to occur in the future. Everybody in the room managed to stop their tasks for a few seconds, and say hello to us. It was a kind gesture to us, especially when we didn't even know how welcome we would be.
There was not a lot of time, so once we were in the studio, we hastily began assembling our equipment. There already was a drumset for me to use, so after a careful inspection, I managed to utilize much of the television stations' drumkit. We had our gear assembled in about twenty minutes, we did a quick sound check with one of the stations' technicians, and we were then instructed to wait -- and wait quietly, I might add.
We might have waited only fifteen minutes, but it felt like two hours. The nerves were beginning to affect us all, and Jake, Chris and I did a final last-ditch practice of the songs by humming, air-drumming and plucking at their unplugged guitars. It felt good, but we all knew that we only had one shot at this, and we would have to do our absolute best. Our lead singer Dan, disappeared to a public washroom where he warmed up his vocal chords.
It wasn't long until the host, Jill Bellam, arrived (I think that's what her name was). She was a very kind host, who made us feel a little at ease. She asked us a few questions, and instructed us how the taping would commence, as well as she told us what to expect. Immediately thereafter, we were instructed to plug-in our instruments, take our places, and wait for the dreaded countdown. Once the countdown hits zero, you are on -- and you'd better not take your time.
I saw the cameraman count down from ten until five, and then continue counting down silently with his fingers. Once his hand reached zero, I soiled my shorts and counted the band in the first number.
I don't know where I went for the next four minutes. I was completely focused, listening to the other players. I was praying that everything would go flawlessly, but when you are under such pressure, anything can go wrong. I kept telling myself to not look at the cameras; first of all, because you look like such a dork when you make eyes with the camera, and second, the moment you look into that glass eye -- the one that has the red light glowing, you freeze like a deer in headlights. All I could do to keep myself from vomiting over myself was to go into my own little world, and tell myself that we were not taping.
As soon as the song ended, Jill walked on the stage, thanked us, and commenced the interview. I am quite happy that she did not ask me a question, because I would have looked like such a dork, wiping the drool from my face, and uttering something completely primitive and unintelligible -- kinda like "Buddy-Nugs". Dan and Jake handled the questions, and I think they did a good job. The interview was very short, perhaps under two minutes. What you saw on the show was exactly the way it happened. Nothing was cut, nothing was patched or added.
We were instructed to sit for a few minutes and wait to perform our second number. Once again, the butterflies returned to my stomach, as I would be singing during the second song, and I hadn't learned my harmonies well enough. In addition, the monitors were poor, and the staff didn't have enough time to make things picture-perfect for us.
The countdown commenced, and once again I was counting in the band, praying that I wouldn't embarrass myself, the band, or my family for generations to come, by doing something stupid. Musically, the song went well, but I could hardly hear the other singers, and I did my best to fake my harmonies. I didn't think I did too bad, as they seemed to fit well in the mix.
The song ended without a train-wreck and we all breathed a huge sigh of relief. Jill thanked us for being on the show, as well as we thanked her for having the opportunity to stare at her for about an hour. She left the studio, and the band began packing our gear.
Chris asked me if I would like to join him for a beverage at one of the pubs, were we could drink some of these jitters away. I agreed, and drove across town to a watering-hole where I met a few of his friends. I stayed for a few drinks, but I had to leave, as I could not wait to see myself on a real television station.
Well, I suppose it might have been better if I did not tune-in at all. I sure felt like I looked like a dork. The shots of me looked like I just got back in from smoking a dozen joints. Boy, did I look lit. The music sounded pretty decent for television, but I sure cringed when I heard the vocals. Oh, was it torture. It was off-key, shrill, and sounded worse than a thousand drunken bagpipers on St. Patrick's Day. After our "performance", I turned off the television, and began convincing myself that nobody was going to watch that show anyway.
Boy, was I wrong. The next day, Chris and I went shopping in Calgary. Everywhere we went, we were approached by strangers saying: "Hey! You were on Wired last night!" We were celebrities -- something I did not want to become again. Well, at least we didn't have legions of screaming fans stalking us, but at least we were treated well by those who did recognize us. I suppose it was a nice boost to the ego, and in the end, I am glad to have had the experience.
Next time, I might opt out of singing. Musicians always talk about the "truth on tape". I suppose this day and age, there is truth in ones and zeros. The tape never lies; the tape is merciless. I could never stand the sound of my own voice -- even if I was singing well.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Totally Wired
This is quick reminder for everyone that I am going to be on television tonight.
I am going to be on tonight's broadcast of "Wired", at 11:00 PM MST, on the Calgary feed of the A-Channel.
I hope many of you will have the chance to tune into the show.
The rest of the week I'll be performing at Trapper's Pub and Grill in Calgary. If you can make it, I'd love to see you there.
If I can get access to a computer, I may have some spare time to write an entry and update you on my experiences. Otherwise I will write again once I return from my road trip.
Take care, everyone.
I am going to be on tonight's broadcast of "Wired", at 11:00 PM MST, on the Calgary feed of the A-Channel.
I hope many of you will have the chance to tune into the show.
The rest of the week I'll be performing at Trapper's Pub and Grill in Calgary. If you can make it, I'd love to see you there.
If I can get access to a computer, I may have some spare time to write an entry and update you on my experiences. Otherwise I will write again once I return from my road trip.
Take care, everyone.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
It's Good To Be Back
Last nights' show at the Hylton demonstrated a 100% improvement in the overall performance of our band. Did we ever have a good time last night. The bar was packed again; full of rowdy rock & rollers. A number of my friends managed to attend the show, and even some friends from years past surprisingly attended. I never managed to determine if they knew I'd be there or if the meeting was purely coincidental. Regardless, I reestablished some old ties, and managed to gather a few more friends (and fans) to attend our performance in Calgary next weekend.
The overall tally for last night was:
2 broken drumsticks
4+ alcoholic beverages (I lost count after 4)
1 paycheck.
The guys in the band keep kicking my ass on stage telling me to hit harder. Every stick I break is 7 bucks down the toilet. For that price them drumsticks better heat my house. I threw a fit last night, when a fresh pair of sticks didn't even last 30 minutes. I'm going to have to demand a raise, since equipment maintenance and replacement does not come cheap (note to self: buy bigger sticks). I'm already spending a few nights in a hotel next week, so that means I will be making very little cash in Calgary. I know it's all about having fun, but when I spend time in Calgary, I end up going to music shops and then I spend 2 months' salary on toys. The last time I went shopping in Edmonton, I ended up having 5k worth of toys in my hands, and it proved very difficult to be selective at what I really needed. I really will have to do my best to restrain myself this weekend, but there are far too many toys on my wish list. Unfortunately, it is very difficult to get some of the articles I desire in town, and if they are available in town, they are overpriced.
Today ended up being a rough one. I didn't get home until 4:00 this morning, and I slept until 11:00. Gigging late for the last two nights felt like someone hit me with a sack of hammers. I ended up sleeping for another two hours in the afternoon. I hope that my sleep schedule can return to normal by tomorrow. It's going to be a long week, but filled with fun and adventure.
The overall tally for last night was:
2 broken drumsticks
4+ alcoholic beverages (I lost count after 4)
1 paycheck.
The guys in the band keep kicking my ass on stage telling me to hit harder. Every stick I break is 7 bucks down the toilet. For that price them drumsticks better heat my house. I threw a fit last night, when a fresh pair of sticks didn't even last 30 minutes. I'm going to have to demand a raise, since equipment maintenance and replacement does not come cheap (note to self: buy bigger sticks). I'm already spending a few nights in a hotel next week, so that means I will be making very little cash in Calgary. I know it's all about having fun, but when I spend time in Calgary, I end up going to music shops and then I spend 2 months' salary on toys. The last time I went shopping in Edmonton, I ended up having 5k worth of toys in my hands, and it proved very difficult to be selective at what I really needed. I really will have to do my best to restrain myself this weekend, but there are far too many toys on my wish list. Unfortunately, it is very difficult to get some of the articles I desire in town, and if they are available in town, they are overpriced.
Today ended up being a rough one. I didn't get home until 4:00 this morning, and I slept until 11:00. Gigging late for the last two nights felt like someone hit me with a sack of hammers. I ended up sleeping for another two hours in the afternoon. I hope that my sleep schedule can return to normal by tomorrow. It's going to be a long week, but filled with fun and adventure.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
First-Gig Jitters
The first gig is always the hardest to get through. You never know what to expect, even after three weeks' of rehearsals. The band members forget to teach you songs, arrangements are changed or forgotten, you have difficulty hearing the other players on stage due to poor monitors, and above all the influence of alcohol always plays a part.
I would not be lying if I said I was not nervous before and during the performance. I had a bit of the jitters, as I was trying my best to remember all the songs we had practiced, and if I didn't, how many of those would turn into train wrecks. I was certainly more excited than nervous, and having adrenaline mixed in with a little alcohol is a dangerous concoction in the body. Both do very well at altering your perception of time. For a drummer, being able to control those chemicals can make the difference between being a solid drummer and one who is fired.
I was solid as a rock last night, even though there were many times where I screwed up. I did miss a lot of changes, shots, pushes and pulls, and even some of my harmonies were absent. The bass player spent most of the time on stage kicking my ass, conducting with his axe, and yelling at me above the aural assault. He was just trying to help me, and I never took it personally. After we would get off the stage for breaks, he would return to his normal self, and we would be cool to one another. I really shouldn't complain about last night's show; it was the first gig, and it's only going to get better from here. Overall, the other band members were very supportive of my efforts, and were quite pleased to have me on deck with them.
Overall, we played very well last night. For a new band, were we tight. The bar was packed for much of the night, and the patrons were drunk and rowdy. In addition, a few local musicians went out of their way to catch us, and they were very supportive of our performance. I do like schmoozing with other musicians at gigs.
We managed to win the hearts of a few patrons last night and managed to sell a few signed CD's. I still feel a little weird signing my name on an album that I did not record. That will soon change, and some of the band members are pushing to have a second album out by the end of the summer. That sounds a little ambitious to me, and I am a person of the opinion that you should make your money back on the sales of the first CD before you decide to commit to a sophomore effort. I expect we will sell a bunch of CD's next weekend in Calgary.
Gawd! There's one in every bar. The shit-faced, loud geriatric who can barely stand, yet knows everything about everything. We nearly got verbally assaulted by this loudmouth who thought he knew a thing or two about music, and he would
not...
shut...
up!
After years of sluuging it out in the trenches of the Canadian music scene, I have lost all my patience for people like this, and was one of the contributing reasons why I quit playing in bars for three years. I must be a magnet for bullshitters. I get all the arrogant know-it-alls, while the other guys get all the hot babes. I'd love to tell these people to take a hike, or get out of my face, but I'm just too kind. I also learned very early on in my bar-hopping days that you can never argue with a drunk without serious repercussions.
1 Alcoholic beverage
1 Broken drumstick
1 Blister
1 Annoying drunk
I would not be lying if I said I was not nervous before and during the performance. I had a bit of the jitters, as I was trying my best to remember all the songs we had practiced, and if I didn't, how many of those would turn into train wrecks. I was certainly more excited than nervous, and having adrenaline mixed in with a little alcohol is a dangerous concoction in the body. Both do very well at altering your perception of time. For a drummer, being able to control those chemicals can make the difference between being a solid drummer and one who is fired.
I was solid as a rock last night, even though there were many times where I screwed up. I did miss a lot of changes, shots, pushes and pulls, and even some of my harmonies were absent. The bass player spent most of the time on stage kicking my ass, conducting with his axe, and yelling at me above the aural assault. He was just trying to help me, and I never took it personally. After we would get off the stage for breaks, he would return to his normal self, and we would be cool to one another. I really shouldn't complain about last night's show; it was the first gig, and it's only going to get better from here. Overall, the other band members were very supportive of my efforts, and were quite pleased to have me on deck with them.
Overall, we played very well last night. For a new band, were we tight. The bar was packed for much of the night, and the patrons were drunk and rowdy. In addition, a few local musicians went out of their way to catch us, and they were very supportive of our performance. I do like schmoozing with other musicians at gigs.
We managed to win the hearts of a few patrons last night and managed to sell a few signed CD's. I still feel a little weird signing my name on an album that I did not record. That will soon change, and some of the band members are pushing to have a second album out by the end of the summer. That sounds a little ambitious to me, and I am a person of the opinion that you should make your money back on the sales of the first CD before you decide to commit to a sophomore effort. I expect we will sell a bunch of CD's next weekend in Calgary.
Gawd! There's one in every bar. The shit-faced, loud geriatric who can barely stand, yet knows everything about everything. We nearly got verbally assaulted by this loudmouth who thought he knew a thing or two about music, and he would
not...
shut...
up!
After years of sluuging it out in the trenches of the Canadian music scene, I have lost all my patience for people like this, and was one of the contributing reasons why I quit playing in bars for three years. I must be a magnet for bullshitters. I get all the arrogant know-it-alls, while the other guys get all the hot babes. I'd love to tell these people to take a hike, or get out of my face, but I'm just too kind. I also learned very early on in my bar-hopping days that you can never argue with a drunk without serious repercussions.
- Never argue with a drunk.
- If you find yourself in a situation where there is no option but to argue with a drunk, see rule #1.
- Failure to comply with rule #1 or #2 will find the situation will result in a heated one-way discussion about why the drunk is right and you are dead wrong. The best advice is to smile, nod, and accept defeat.
- Failure to comply with rule #3 will likely result in a verbal assault from the opposing party. These can vary from simple name calling to crudely crafted insults. You may even be surprised that someone with a blood-alcohol level higher than Boris Yeltsen's can create new and offensive phrases in an attempt to goad you into a fight. At this point, you are on a slippery slope, and the situation will very likely escalate to #5.
- Physical conflict. No rules apply anymore at this point. The drunk will generally try to get you to throw the first punch. If you keep your cool, you might be able to get him to throw the first punch. It doesn't matter, as by this time, both of you will be ejected from the establishment.
- Never argue with a drunk.
1 Alcoholic beverage
1 Broken drumstick
1 Blister
1 Annoying drunk
Saturday, March 19, 2005
The First Gig is Upon Me
This is a friendly reminder that my first performance with Müle Shöe will be March 25-26, 2005 at the Redcliff Hylton. The show will start at approximately 9:00 PM, and continue until about 2:00 AM. There is no admission fee. You are all invited to attend (if you can make it, that is).
To get to the Hylton, drive to Redcliff, and take Broadway (the main street) until you reach a 4-way Stop sign. Turn right, and drive ~1/2 a block until you reach an old 3-storey hotel on the left-side of the road. Enter the hotel, and you should be met by some very loud Rock and Roll.
I should warn you, the bar is a dump. If you don't like dingy bars, then probably you should wait until we are playing a slightly nicer venue.
To get to the Hylton, drive to Redcliff, and take Broadway (the main street) until you reach a 4-way Stop sign. Turn right, and drive ~1/2 a block until you reach an old 3-storey hotel on the left-side of the road. Enter the hotel, and you should be met by some very loud Rock and Roll.
I should warn you, the bar is a dump. If you don't like dingy bars, then probably you should wait until we are playing a slightly nicer venue.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
I'm An Ass (Literally)
I have some exciting news to share. Late Monday night, I got a phone call from Guitar Wizard Chris, who asked me if I wanted to join one of Southern Alberta's Premier Rock Bands. I happily accepted.
Müle Shöe has been around for a few years now, and have recently released their debut album, Piles of Rock. I have mentioned this band on my blog a few times now, you can read past entries here and here. I have some pretty big shoes to fill, as drummer Connor has left the band for unknown reasons. There is a repertoire of about sixty songs that I am going to have to learn in a few short weeks. And I am going to have to learn them well in very short notice.
You see, In less than a month, Müle Shöe is going to be featured on the A-Channel in Calgary for a performance and interview. More details about showtimes will be coming to this page in the near future (I believe it's a late-night show called "Wired", but I could be mistaken). I am quite happy about the fact that I am going to be gigging a lot more often in the near future. Müle Shöe tour dates will be made available via their webpage (bookmark their page, *hint, hint*). Sadly, I do not manage their webpage, nor do I know who does at this time.
Speaking of which, I will be gigging this weekend, but this time, not with Müle Shöe. I will be playing with SK, whom I have mentioned in this blog a few times before. We will be entertaining a local watering hole, and likely having a great time doing so.
My free time is dwindling away. I have rehearsals the next few nights, so I imagine that I am going to be sleep-deprived the next few days.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Speed Bump
This morning, my trusty iMac got a healthy dose of power. My friend (who happens to be a computer technician) and I installed an additional 512 megabytes of RAM, bumping the total RAM available up to 768 megabytes. The operation was quick and painless. We had the cover off and back on in under 2 minutes. To quote my friend, "It doesn't get much faster than that."
Upon reboot, the change was immediately noticeable. Applications launch immediately, and games don't "skip" or "pop". As I write this, I am monitoring SETI@home, and it appears that I could shave an hour off my workunit time.
Checking the system profiler, it was determined that OSX was using 256 megabytes alone. This pretty much meant that prior to the RAM upgrade, the operating system was monopolizing the system resources; any additional running programs were running under virtual memory.
I now have a computer that I am completely satisfied with -- at least for today. In a few years, this machine will become a dinosaur and will require replacement. When that happens, I imagine I will be raving about the next model. Sadly, the depreciation of technology is inevitable.
Piles Of Rock
Last night a few of my friends and I attended the Müle Shöe CD-Release Party. Entitled Piles of Rock, their CD is a reflection of their influences and roots. Take 2 parts Led Zeppelin, throw in 2 parts of Van Halen, and equal parts of Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, and AC/DC, and you would have something that sounded like Müle Shöe. The theater was packed, though a strange crowd. Müle Shöe is generally known around the local bar scene, but at least half of the theater was comprised of the under-18 crowd. They seemed to enjoy it all the same.
Yes, it was louder than heck.
After the concert, my friends and I found a watering hole to sing a few Karaoke numbers -- pretty much our intent was to have a few beverages, and show off our vocal talents. The bar was packed, which meant that we weren't going to be able to sing more than one or two numbers. So I picked Cheap Trick's Surrender, and CCR's Proud Mary, two numbers I have only sang once before, but I knew I could pull them both off.
With Proud Mary, you know that the whole bar is going to sing along. I heard them all singing over the PA. Of course they loved it. I was just relieved that nobody decided to jump on the stage and "help me out".
I nailed Surrender. I was also paying close attention to the crowd, as last time I sang this number it was in an empty pub, and I couldn't gauge whether or not this would be a song that the patrons would appreciate. We had a winner. There were tons of people singing along -- even a few patrons "banging their heads" to my performance. In addition, there were numerous screams and applause after my performance.
Today, I feeling the after-effects of last night's outing. I think I should be taking it easy for the rest of the day.
Upon reboot, the change was immediately noticeable. Applications launch immediately, and games don't "skip" or "pop". As I write this, I am monitoring SETI@home, and it appears that I could shave an hour off my workunit time.
Checking the system profiler, it was determined that OSX was using 256 megabytes alone. This pretty much meant that prior to the RAM upgrade, the operating system was monopolizing the system resources; any additional running programs were running under virtual memory.
I now have a computer that I am completely satisfied with -- at least for today. In a few years, this machine will become a dinosaur and will require replacement. When that happens, I imagine I will be raving about the next model. Sadly, the depreciation of technology is inevitable.
Piles Of Rock
Last night a few of my friends and I attended the Müle Shöe CD-Release Party. Entitled Piles of Rock, their CD is a reflection of their influences and roots. Take 2 parts Led Zeppelin, throw in 2 parts of Van Halen, and equal parts of Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, and AC/DC, and you would have something that sounded like Müle Shöe. The theater was packed, though a strange crowd. Müle Shöe is generally known around the local bar scene, but at least half of the theater was comprised of the under-18 crowd. They seemed to enjoy it all the same.
Yes, it was louder than heck.
After the concert, my friends and I found a watering hole to sing a few Karaoke numbers -- pretty much our intent was to have a few beverages, and show off our vocal talents. The bar was packed, which meant that we weren't going to be able to sing more than one or two numbers. So I picked Cheap Trick's Surrender, and CCR's Proud Mary, two numbers I have only sang once before, but I knew I could pull them both off.
With Proud Mary, you know that the whole bar is going to sing along. I heard them all singing over the PA. Of course they loved it. I was just relieved that nobody decided to jump on the stage and "help me out".
I nailed Surrender. I was also paying close attention to the crowd, as last time I sang this number it was in an empty pub, and I couldn't gauge whether or not this would be a song that the patrons would appreciate. We had a winner. There were tons of people singing along -- even a few patrons "banging their heads" to my performance. In addition, there were numerous screams and applause after my performance.
Today, I feeling the after-effects of last night's outing. I think I should be taking it easy for the rest of the day.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Ass-Kicked
Woke up with a hangover. Last night I went to see one of my favorite local rock bands Mule Shoe with a bunch of my friends at a local watering hole. For some reason, every time I see these guys play, I get so drunk. Perhaps it's the atmosphere, or it could be the music, or perhaps it's the good company, but I seem to pay for it the next day. Most likely, it's a combination of all the above.
I would consider myself good friends with all the members of Mule Shoe. I have supported them since the bands' inception in 2002, and I have had the opportunity to jam with the odd member on occasion. Birds of a feather flock together, I surmise.
Managed to hitch a cab ride home at 3:00 in the morning, fix an omelet for a late-night snack, and promptly fell asleep. I don't stay out that late very often anymore. I pay for it for most of the subsequent week. I think I'm getting too old for this all-night partying thing.
I would consider myself good friends with all the members of Mule Shoe. I have supported them since the bands' inception in 2002, and I have had the opportunity to jam with the odd member on occasion. Birds of a feather flock together, I surmise.
Managed to hitch a cab ride home at 3:00 in the morning, fix an omelet for a late-night snack, and promptly fell asleep. I don't stay out that late very often anymore. I pay for it for most of the subsequent week. I think I'm getting too old for this all-night partying thing.
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